


Between Thunderclaps: Angel Fell

by CharmiaArkenstone



Series: Emerald Storm [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Graphic Description, Grief, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19766590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmiaArkenstone/pseuds/CharmiaArkenstone
Summary: There was a time, a time when he gave her wings but she did not fly.





	Between Thunderclaps: Angel Fell

There was a time, a time when he gave her wings but she did not fly.

Just because there’d been no pain did not mean that she hadn’t felt it in every fibre. The morning had been so warm.

 _I need you to be perfect for me,_ he’d said in the deepened purr that could never be refused; _you’ve done nothing wrong, I promise. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?_

She’d nodded, silently, and he’d stroked her so softly, whispering what a _good girl_ she was. There had been nothing dark or cruel, at least not directed at her, when she’d asked _why_ , even in her near-complete ignorance.  
It was all rather simple, _silly pup_. It seemed their mutual, seafaring friend had become tiresome in his incessant, _heartfelt_ , quest to pursue the fate of the child he’d abandoned on Neverland’s shore. Ever since his first return, when she’d stood in the pack of wolves, the mask of a hound donning her face, he’d had no idea.

He’d not even known when she’d swam out to his ship, concealed beneath the dark tide – mistaking the splashes for that of a rogue lone mermaid – and tucked away on the ridges along the hull of the ship and listening to all the sailors’ voices while the ship was still anchored. Their clamour had been more than enough to cover her escape.

She could have stayed, sailed away, and didn’t.

When the woodland king told her he was proud in a coo, it meant more to her than she would admit.

The captain needed a message. One to inspire rage and despair, stoke his already consuming need for revenge. One to break him and cut his last ties to the hope that there was still a good man somewhere beneath the pirate. Simplicity itself, _silly pup_.

The rook was coming close, and Pan would strike him down with his queen.

The Lost Ones had been sent on, moving north, leaving behind the wild god and his trinity. It took every shred of resolve to not quake in her boots. Rufio was stroking her neck tenderly, the way she’d since witnessed him do to a collapsed doe before he slit her fragile throat. The viper’s love, however depraved, was real. Even Felix lingered far closer than usual. There was no animosity between hound and lion – and they certainly respected one another in their way – but no real fondness, either. It took a couple of moments to realise that Rufio’s petting was an attempt to calm her.

A cauldron simmered over the fire and, crouched low, Pan sprinkled in what looked to be dried and shredded leaves. Whatever concoction was brewing, he gave it a final stir before dipping a clay drinking cup in and filling it to the brim, and a little magic made it cool enough to drink. The liquid had an unsettling red hue as it trickled from the cusp down his large hand. Rufio sensed the girl waver and inched closer to hold her steady.

“Don’t be afraid,” Pan whispered as he came close, the threads that tied them wrenching and tugging at the thrall of every instinct, petrified and wild in the fragile body that contained them. He offered the cup to her; “Drink up, little one. Every last drop.”

Sabre’s hands looked so little against his as she reached to take the cup, clasping it between both palms. _Little one,_ he hadn’t called her that in a _long_ time. Taking a breath, grateful for Rufio’s hand at her hip, she brought the cup to her mouth to swallow down mouth after mouthful before the taste or mild heat could linger on her tongue. The immediate sensation was strange but otherwise indescribable. Sabre blinked hard with her final swallow, a small noise in the back of her throat, and she barely felt the emptied cup slipping from her suddenly lax hands.

Rufio was ready to catch her when she fell. Long dark hair, wrapped up in a braid, nearly reached the boys knees as he hoisted the seamless body into his arms.

Sabre knew her heart should have been racing, even as she drifted away from the shore of consciousness, losing the fight to swim back. The beats were solitary, lonesome, in the cage of frail ribs. She only felt the weight of Pan’s hand on her cheek, the timbre of his voice thrumming in the last tide that would drive the shore from sight.

_Beautiful. You’re going to be so beautiful._

* * *

Sabre came to at the caresses of a breeze carried in on the sea. Not a thread clad her form. Only the ribbon remained, colour rich and the knot too small to pick apart. And Pan would not take it from her. She couldn’t move, or speak, and a blur glazed her eyes, leaving a look of madness about her.

A small number of seconds passed and her starved mind breathed air; on her knees, she was slumped against two bodies, an arm around either neck, held there by large and calloused hands, and her long braid had been pulled to the side. The blur steadily cleared, allowing Sabre to see the tips of dark, winding branches, crooked and bare of leaves, as if all life had been singed away. She’d been sure there were no bare trees on the open cliff edges…

“Pan,” Rufio’s voice reached her, as if hearing it from underwater, “she’s waking up.”

A pair of lips pressed themselves at the nape of her neck. “It’s all right, my sweet. You’re safe. You’ve got to be perfect now, you’ve got to make me proud. You’ll feel no pain, I promise.” All the girl’s shattered will could muster was a pitiful whine. Still, a hand stroked down her back. “ _Shhh_.”

The fear came in a twisted, dulled form. The elixir had quietened everything, leaving behind only the last pounding beats of instinct, screaming terror, fury and treachery.

Then came the blade.

There was no pain. No gushing of blood. She couldn’t see the rope that would tie to the branches to capture her flight, or bind her hands in silent prayer.

All she could do was simply _be_ , held perfectly still in the arms of Felix and Rufio, counting the lonely heartbeats in the back of her mind, while Pan carved himself a breathing angel.

* * *

The instructions left had been simple enough to follow – approach the island from the south-east, pass close by with the Spire Islands on the starboard side, towards the smaller of the two rivers that fed into the belly of Neverland.

It was irrelevant if it was a game or trap, there was no other practical choice than to adhere to Pan’s whims and wishes. The things a pirate would do for his vengeance…

The Jolly Roger sailed easily through the cobalt waters, courtesy of Pan’s _generosity_. Killian grit his teeth to know he was going straight for the bait the bloody demon was dangling in front of him. The sea’s calmness, the coolness of the sea, nor the obedient efficiency of his crew was enough to curb his apprehension beneath the cowl of irritability. A pirate knew to trust their gut. And his was warning that something was terribly wrong. Yet, his vessel sailed true.

His nerves began to fray as the last of the Spire Islands passed by and there was no sign of the so-called bait. The instructions had said nothing of sailing up the river. What the bloody hell did Pan want him to see?

The crew were becoming jittery, starting to mumble to one another, though they knew better than to question him. “That’s enough of that,” Killian coerced from the helm, practiced in not betraying his nerves. The crew quietened but it was easy enough to sense that they were just as rattled.

He called for the ship to be slowed and anchored, before pulling out the note. Pan could only be taunting him with the words _I have something to show you. Come and see._ What was he not seeing?

Why was every instinct urging him to flee?

“Uh, captain?” piped up a voice.

Killian’s eyes were already rolling, jaw ground. “What is it, Smee?”

The small man removed his hat, and it was that which got him the captain’s attention. “I-I think you need to see this.”

The crew were gathering on the port side, abandoning whatever it was they’d been doing, gasping, whispering frantically, invoking deities; it only made Killian cross the deck all the quicker. 

He didn’t want to believe what he saw.

“My spyglass,” he held out his hand. It was much heavier that he remembered. “Quiet!” he barked at his crew. How could he have not seen it until then?

A trick, it must have been a trick. An illusion. Another game to torture him with. He’d once gone weeks falsely thinking half his crew were dead only to find it had all been for the demon’s amusement. What he saw had to be the same. 

It couldn’t be real.

Years and years of sailing Neverland’s seas and he’d never seen a dark, twisted tree on the cliff edge. He would have remembered its gruelling image. But the tree only caught his eye for a moment. It was what was beneath it.

Naked. Kneeling. A mass of dark hair hiding the hung head, made to dance on the breeze. Two arms cutting through its veil, meeting at the wrists for palms to kiss. Flesh made wings, flying high.

“Is it…is it her?” Smee choked from beside him.

The spyglass nearly fell from the captain’s hand as he lowered it. He didn’t answer. A lump strangled his throat. He stepped back to catch himself, suffocating on lost hope and broken promises.

He’d meant it, however recklessly, when he’d vowed to rescue that girl.

And now he could not bear the thought that she might have spent over four years waiting in hope for someone who had never come.

Smee took the spyglass before it clattered to the floor, and Killian let him. “Venger didn’t have black hair,” the smaller man said, looking for himself, and the crew had resumed their murmurs. “Do you think it’s Tiger Lily?” The skin was too pale, even he knew.

Killian swallowed, no longer able to see clearly. “It’s her.”

* * *

There was pain when the ropes were cut, when her wings were tucked, even if it was barely in the wounds. Her eyes had been open the whole time, narrow and hooded, and she’d watched the daylight disappear through the shroud of dark tresses that had been carefully unwound from their braid. Only one had come for her, and there was enough of her senses left to recognise who, even at the cost of gradually becoming sensitised to what had been done. The beats of the heart that had broken were still so lonely, and no blood painted the body too weak to be animated.

Felix was ready to catch the desecrated form as it was severed from its prayer. He draped the cloak he’d brought with him over her and gathered the girl into his arms. Hair falling away, he caught a glimpse of the tears shining against the light, moving quickly for he knew the effects were already fading. It would take a few hours before she could gain back full movement but it would not be long before her heart shook off the haze and killed its host, if the shock didn’t do it first.

“Pan can’t wait to see you,” the tall boy whispered to her when the whimpers, tiny and shattered, started to pour. “It’s not far now.”

Even in the bundle, wrapped up tight against Felix’s chest, Sabre was present enough to feel her wings, perverted and grotesque, pressing and brushing against the rawness underneath. The sickness was enough to whine and groan. Felix almost sounded tender as he hushed her, the tears slipping helplessly from those dark eyes.

Instead of bringing her to a hut or treehouse deep in Neverland’s woods, Sabre was carried to a secreted sandy cove that turned its back on the setting sun. Any other day or night it would have been beautiful, idyllically so, but such a thing no longer existed in her mind.

In the centre of the small bay stood a tent fit for royalty, its fabric scarlet and silken, the evening light reflecting like flames. Warmly glowing lanterns hung high in the tent’s interior, the floor padded with a thick luscious carpet. Two figures reclined on the equally plush bed in the centre, large enough to comfortably hold four bodies. Rufio was the first to sit up; he slid off the covers and hurried towards the approaching pair as Felix ducked under the tent flaps, able to stand at full height once inside.

“Let me have her,” he eagerly reached under Felix’s arms to take the small body into his, catching the remnants of bared teeth that would have been a snarl. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he pouted to the girl, and she tried to do it again.

“She’s starting to bleed,” Felix intervened, looking to the bed, while Rufio coddled her.

Now sat upright, his chest left bare, Pan nodded swiftly. “Bring her to me. _Now,_ Rufio.”

Sabre’s whine was undoubtedly one of protest, weak in the mouth, as she was passed into another pair of arms, like a newborn being given to its parent for the first time, and Pan touched her as if she was just as precious. Her next noise was a little louder. Between Pan’s opened legs, she was made to kneel, her own dead-weight collapsing against his chest; arms with bruised wrists guided to his shoulders and head turned to the side. She shuddered as the cloak was pulled away. And without it, blood began to trickle from her tattered wings.

“It’s all going to go away now,” the Boy-King purred to her, a hand lifted to beckon his two favourites closer. They settled on either side of him, and Rufio shuffled to the perfect angle to see Sabre’s eyes, catching a drop of sacred blood to bring to his mouth. “The pain’s going to stop, I promise.”

Sabre could have screeched. Rage forced her lips apart, built a voice. And when Rufio put a finger to her lips – wet with the tears that just couldn’t stop – seeing the rise, she wanted to rip it off with her bare teeth and spit back the blood.

Hands were stroking her; Rufio’s in her hair, Felix’s down her arm, over the black tattoo, touch light and silky. Meanwhile warmth pulsed from Pan’s flat palm, hovering over the length of her back. Flesh and muscle were moulded to their frame, skin knitted together without so much a trace of the defilement. But Sabre could still feel it all.

Moaning weakly, she tried to push away from Pan’s chest; even that was still impossible, but they all felt her struggles. The words nearly made it out when she tried again.

“She wants to say something,” Rufio said, speaking softly.

Pan stroked her back slowly, and Sabre was certain enough that he was looking down at her. “I’m sure she does.” When Sabre mewled he hushed her.

“It’s easy to forget how young she is,” Felix spoke from beside him, entertaining the desire to drag the back of his finger down her soft side. He wouldn’t chose a girl like her – or probably any girl at all – but he could appreciate what Pan and Rufio saw in her. And for her sacrifice, he was happy to do his part.

Pan hummed in agreement, not taking his eyes from the girl. “Poor little thing, you can’t stop crying yet, can you? You’re going to be washed now, and then we’ll make it _all_ better.”

After being handed back to Felix, she was carried over to a large, deep tub tucked away behind the bed, too broken to feel ashamed of her nakedness. He was careful as he lowered her into the gently steaming water, arm muscles taut with the slow descent of her weight. The soles of her feet pressed up the far end of the tub, legs straightened to keep her from collapsing. She nearly smiled, only stopped because she couldn’t. They didn’t know, but she thought about letting her weight pull her beneath the surface just to see what they did.

Rufio appeared at her side, and Sabre managed to inch her gaze, head turning by a fraction, over to him. Between crossing from bed to bath he’d shed his shirt. Leaning forward, he wiped her scar streaked cheeks but his eyes were fixed on the other boy also removing half his clothes, the most slender of the four.

Then suddenly there was a sponge in Rufio’s hand; he dipped it into the water, taking his time, and squeezed away the excess before putting it to Sabre’s chest, rubbing lazy gentle circles. Warm droplets trickled over the scar and between the valley of her breasts. Meanwhile, Felix knelt down on the opposite side, long fingers curled around a delicate ankle to lift the whole leg, using another sponge to wash away the dirt and grit that had clung to the girl’s shins from kneeling beneath the twisted tree for so long.

Languid graceful steps brought the Boy-King to the foot of the bath, broad and flawlessly magnificent, and in that moment Sabre despised his unalterable beauty. He watched another tear streak down her cheek. His head tilted, eyes bright and terrible.

Sabre looked down, fearful that she’d crumble to dust under his gaze alone, skin tingling under the stroking sponges. Closing her eyes only pushed forward two large teardrops. She couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe them away, but wanted to snap at the lips that kissed them from her cheeks. Rufio let his mouth linger, the sponge in his hand dipping below the water, past her navel, lower, and lower. 

Suddenly she whined, body jerking feebly.

“ _Tsk_ , careful, Rufio,” Pan reprimanded with no real fire behind it. “You’ve got to be nice and gentle with her,” he paused and his eyes bore right through her. “Fragile as a babe, aren’t you?”

Rufio offered an apology with the edge of a grin, directed more to Pan but still he kissed the girl’s temple in time to catch her shiver from the other’s words. The sponge delved between her legs again, gentler that time and rubbing in slow circles, while the other was being stroked along her arm. She detested being able to _feel_ everything, and do nothing.

The way Rufio glanced to her implied his lack of experience with the female body; it relieved Sabre more than the muscles of her face couldn’t betray the pleasant sensations pooling below his hand. It didn’t change that she’d sooner bite it off. His fingers probed curiously around the sponge, grazing coarse hair and silken flesh without trying to be subtle in his efforts.

“Is she pretty to fuck?” he turned to Pan, orbs like dark flames.

A devious grin opened the wild boy’s mouth. Long fingers curled around the edge of the bath as he leaned forward with a long, low sigh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rue. We’re here for our dear little hound.” Yet his eyes glittered with sinful promise.

Their hands persisted, so carefully, so tenderly, and she despised it. If they’d been callous, if they’d been cruel, hurt her again, she would have understood.

Once deemed _clean_ , Felix was again the one to lift her naked body from the tub so that he could hand her into Rufio’s waiting arms, a large towel slung over his forearms to wrap her up in until she was all but swaddled, head drooping against his shoulder. The space between her legs was shamefully holding on to the tingle. Though, as Rufio rocked her like a child on the way to the bed, the snarl did come; it was too weak to outlast his grin, and he settled her in the middle, the towel stretching under the length of her body. She only just had the strength to turn her head far enough to let gravity pull it to the side, watching as Pan settled, limbs carrying him elegantly, several inches away, virid gaze settled on the pale boy standing at the bed’s far side.

“Why don’t you get started? Let her get used to you,” he spoke softly to him, before turning to Rufio with a wayward smirk; “Here, boy.”

The bed rocked as Rufio all but pounced, teeth gleaming in his wild smile. He crawled straight between Pan’s legs, and it came to Sabre that she’d never seen the Boy-King with anyone else, only the marks they carried come dawn. Felix was far more careful as he hopped up beside her, clearing away the damp, pitch coloured hair around her neck, and otherwise not touching her. The first kiss was feather-light, Sabre hardly sensed its presence. She witnessed Rufio unlacing Pan’s long breeches, almost drooling as his half hard cock sprung free; Pan gave him a soft scold, ordering the smaller boy to finish undressing him and telling him not to be so _selfish_ as he spared a look to the other two bodies. The girl was just a hue lighter, he noted.

Felix’s kisses had grown a little bolder by the time the king was bare, climbing up and down that pale feminine throat, a hand resting lightly on her belly where it felt natural.

“I want her neck,” Rufio said from between Pan’s thighs.

It earnt him a smack to the cheek. Felix glanced up but did not cease, rolling his eyes – Rufio always could get a little _too_ excited. “Be careful with your wilfulness,” Pan warned, the boy’s jaw clenched in his hand. “You’ll get your turn, if you play nicely. Kiss here,” his fingers ghosted the swell of Sabre’s left breast.

Sabre’s breath hitched at the sudden pressure of a second mouth on her, the dulled beats of her heart a little less lonely. She resented the gentle pleasure of their touches, the anger flitting away, shattering into something far more broken. An echo of knowing only that she had been enraged.

Her sounds might have been called those of protest, except there was no fight left in them.

The last thing she wished to be was alone. Else the pieces would never be gathered again.

“You’re doing so well,” Pan whispered to her, reaching over to stroke her tear soaked cheek. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Sabre hadn’t moved her head since letting it fall to the side. Grasping at whatever strength was within her reach, she lifted two shattered words to her lips. “… _hate you_ …”

“I know, little one, I know you do. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love me too.” He kept stroking, eyes as soft as she’d ever seen them, and hushed her when she tried to force more words.

She didn’t stop until they came. “You…you hate me.”

Pan inched his long body nearer, the ends of Rufio’s ruby-streaked hair tickling his chest. “No,” he whispered, “I don’t.” Somewhere she found the strength to turn her head away, weeping harder without trying or intending to.

The two mouths were constant in their attentions, and soon it was too much to keep her eyes open, only the smallest of pushes needed to overwhelm her. Rufio’s tongue flicked lazily over her nipple, peaked against his lips, while Felix sucked a soft bruise into her shoulder. The mattress dipped with Pan’s moving weight. Sabre couldn’t open her eyes, only flinch as large hands wrapped around her thighs as though they were made of porcelain, and eased them apart. A whine stalled itself behind her lips. She wasn’t ready.

Rufio and Felix pausing abruptly, in unison, should have been the giveaway.

Fingers pressed into her buttocks at the moulding with her thighs, gripping firmly, but not roughly, and thumbs spread the outer lips of her quim, a touch electrifying. Sabre whimpered but still heard Rufio’s deep groan a fraction of a moment before she felt Pan’s tongue.

“ _Uhh,_ ” the noise was powerlessly fragile, the first of many as every mouth on her kissed, licked and suckled like every inch of flesh was coated in warm honey.

Her core quivered from the wet heat of the Boy-King’s mouth, countering in kind. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her, a low deep sound in his throat, and imagined how she’d cry out without the drug in her blood, how she’d fist the bedding and toss her head on the pillow. 

Hands adjusted to hold the girl by the hips, Pan rocked her lower body into his mouth, need having flooded her quim with blood and brought it to bloom red hot. The taste was familiar, sucked only from his fingers and never the source. He circled the tip of his tongue around the sensitized bundle of nerves, looking up to watch her flicker with movement and whimper in a strung, tortured melody, heartbeat gradually shaking off its slumber. Reaching up, Pan took Rufio’s hand and guided it between Sabre’s legs, to where his tongue had just been. Silently, he guided the other boy’s fingers in little circles at the perfect speed and pressure to bring the girl down the path to release, letting go when sure the other could be trusted alone, and cupped her hind to tilt the angle so he could delve right into her.

Sabre bucked and squirmed, suffocating, surrounded by the three beautiful boys that bound her between them. She ached to scream but instead she sang and wept. They kept whispering to her, lips dragging across her body, hands roaming.

“ _You’re so beautiful like this.”_

_“It’s all right, we’re here. We’re not going away.”_

_“You know you need this. It’ll feel so much better, I promise.”_

_“You’ve been holding this back for so long, haven’t you?”_

_“We could do this forever.”_

_“You’re safe now, you’re safe with us.”_

Sabre’s eyes were open and hooded as she came against the wishes of the echoes of her rage, mouth soft and rounded, allowing the soft sounds to flow from the back of her throat. Felix and Rufio gradually slowed as she descended from sub-space, nuzzling and wiping her eyes while she gasped, and Pan licked up her lust with lazy indulgent strokes, finishing with a few laps at the over-sensitized bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Neither of them had thought someone could cry so much.

“Hate you,” the girl repeated in the smallest of whispers, ringing even hollower than before. “ _Monster_.”

Pan cleaned the edges of his mouth, kneeling up. “I know,” he said, “but I’ve done this, so I’ll undo it. After all, the queen is the most valuable piece on the board. She has to be taken care of.”

Rufio pressed a kiss to Sabre’s neck. “A rather fetching little queen she is, too.” He took it as a good sign that she didn’t growl or bite back.

Pan nudged him and Felix aside. “Can you move yet, little pup?”

It was a little pitiful to watch the girl flex her fingers and widen her knees by an inch or two before falling slack once again. The flame-light made her tears glitter like gems in her depthless eyes. Another slipped when she closed her eyes at the feel of Felix’s slender fingers ghosting her cheek in something akin to pity.

“Why doesn’t she stop crying?” Rufio barely finished his utterance when a clawed hand swung at him.

Suddenly pain flared through his eye and growling cries, ripped and unhinged, assaulted his ears just as mercilessly. Hands reached and grabbed, attacking and restraining. Sabre could feel herself depleting from the moment she’d lashed out, and, even at full strength, would have been no match for the arms grasping at her flailing body.

Felix tugged Sabre back away from Rufio, who now had several fresh cuts around his eyes, while Pan slipped between them. He snatched up the girl’s wrists without trouble and let her exhaust herself into a near comatose state, gut-wrenching sobs declining to quiet sniffles and silent tears. “Shh, shh, you’re safe. Quiet now, little hound. It’s all right, hush now. I’m here, I will always be here. Good girl, good girl,” he whispered, cradling that shivering body close, Felix stroking softly down her back, and soon Rufio risked creeping back onto the bed to pet her thigh. “Is there anything you want, little one?” Pan asked her once she was docile in his arms, knowing that her answer, whatever it was, would tell all he needed to know.

Mute, Sabre reached with a weak and trembling hand to graze his bicep, body easing onto its back. He barely felt her fingers dig into his skin, but understood.

Not questioning, the wild boy allowed her to _tug_ him on top, and he nudged her thighs open. Even then, she was so soft, so warm. It didn’t matter that Felix and Rufio were on either side; Sabre imagined it would have been almost lonely without them so close. There wasn’t enough strength left over to deny the soothing presence of their petting hands, or the weight of Pan’s body crushing her gently into the bed.

He couldn’t be rough, not now. Yet, for perhaps the first time, he did not want to be. At her most desolate, she reached for him. Because they were joined like no others, because his poison had made it to her heart.

They were alike in some ways. They would both do what was necessary.

It was wrong to say that love and hate could never touch. They were two sides of the very same coin.

She had both. He had neither.

And when he kissed her, for the first time since their first kisses, Sabre forgot, just for a moment, all that had happened to her. There was just enough strength to lift her hands to cup either side of his neck, arms trapped between his. Behind closed eyes, she felt the bed dip in what was Rufio crawling around to join the tall pale boy, biting into his willowy neck while watching the other pair. Pan had never kissed him as gently as that. He couldn’t decide if he was jealous; meanwhile Pan settled fully against the girl’s little broken body, hushing her between kisses as she whimpered. Her arms were too weak to hold him so they folded against the bed, hands close to her jaw, and it only made her look all the more breakable.

The tip of Pan’s cock nudged at the girl’s slick opening, primal heat and a small surge of magic waking him fully, and his hips were taut as they lifted a fraction, waiting for the smaller body to welcome him. The already loosened muscles eased apart blissfully, taking his length smoothly, and her dark eyes fluttered as she sighed against his lips. His movements were careful, so easy to mistake for loving, whole body tensing with shackling his own strength as he claimed her.

The cry Sabre uttered was a strangled one, and another tear streaked down her cheek as her eyes fluttered shut, senses honing in on the way she stretched apart for him, suffocating and filled to the brim. The king remained still, pulsing in the sheath; a smirk woke his features when she channelled every last fragment of strength to tilting her hips to ease apart that final little bit. Besides them, Rufio groaned lightly into Felix’s neck, eyes devouring the adjacent pair. He knew it was selfish to crave his king the way he did but he just couldn’t help himself. And when Pan dragged those awe-some eyes to his…he didn’t care how fragile his whine was. His hopes had been correct; she was pretty – no, _exquisite_ – when being taken.

But where usually Pan would have grinned or growled sinfully, he lifted his top lip in the flickers of a warning snarl that had the smaller boy dipping his head, face burning, further into Felix’s neck. Turning back to the girl beneath, Pan knew she had observed it all. He bowed down to capture her lips, hips grinding up with pristine control. “Ignore him,” he purred against the girl’s steadily reddening mouth. “I’m only here for you, and I’ll be gentle with you, I promise. You’ve made me very proud.”

Her quim was divinely wet as he drew back, inch by inch, and he imagined the whimpering moan that would have overtaken her, not denying the deep groan that ached in his own chest. None of his boys felt quite like she did…

It was effortless to glide back in; another low sound and he was buried back in deep, the minute roll of his hips causing those dark, innocent eyes to flutter. An arm slid under her waist, the other hand cupped the back of her neck, holding them as one.

Yet she couldn’t bear it long.

The threads between them tugged so forcefully under the weight of Sabre’s unspoken guilt and battle. Pan felt her scorching hate and defiant love lock horns against the cold edges of his soul. The impulse to wrap the beautiful boy in her arms and kiss him softly was just as strong as the urge to call him _monster_ and claw him until he bled, felt _pain_.

The Boy-King dropped his forehead to Sabre’s, sheathed to the hilt and stilled, knowing she could sense every pulse and throb within. “It’ll feel so much better if you give in, little girl. You know you can. Let go, just let go.”

The girl’s head tossed weakly, breath fragile. “I can’t. You…you…”

“I know what I did. But it was not to hurt you.”

“’S what you do.”

“You didn’t call me _monster_ for nothing.”

Yet with enough care to keep from hurting her, Pan pulled himself from her, catching the fearful flicker in the girl’s eyes. What might she have been capable of if not every waking moment was locked in a raging war?

Holding her at the hips, he rolled her lower body to the side, facing towards the fervent Felix and Rufio. There was blood on Felix’s lips, and both their breeches had been tugged down. A moment was taken to savour the babe-soft skin of the girl’s thigh as she was settled as Pan wanted her. Between her legs, wetness glistened, the skin flushed in a rosy hue. Her hair was pretty in the way it had tangled as though swept in a gale and splayed across the bedding, and Pan petted it away from her face. His touch to her back stole a predictable shudder. The sight pleased him.

And Sabre knew him well enough to know so. But her firing hatred was so weak now, almost quelled into nothing beyond memory. She wanted to shake him away, lash out, just so he’d know she hadn’t surrendered entirely. As if it would make a difference. Her full strength barely compared to a fragment of his, and they both knew it.

The cry was impossible to stop as Pan sank back into her core, hooking her thigh in the crook of his elbow, knee to breast, the other arm wrapped around her shoulders. Every movement was careful, his purring growl enough to make her close her eyes as the shuddering realisation of her own fragility seized its grip on her spine the way it had a hundred times before, reminding her of their simple truths. She belonged to him. He owned her, she was property to him, a toy to be used in any which way he desired and he cared just enough so that he could play with her again and again and again.

It was just as it was on the day Curly died – she couldn’t bear to be with him, but it was a far cry better than being without him. That would have shattered her. And he knew so.

Five years hadn’t been long enough to dull that sword.

She often struggled to the point where he would subdue her to the point of collapse. The next day would be more bearable if he coaxed her, frightened her – as he always did – made her; she could fool herself into a sense of blamelessness. Believe that she didn’t want him to be her cure as well as her poison. Fighting was the only way she knew. Her surrender wasn’t honest without one.

Still hazy, Sabre was too slow to catch the whimper that was plucked from her throat as Pan rocked forwards, gripping her to him as though they could not be separated. She bowed her head and collapsed back against his firm chest in the feeble hope of finding shelter, retreating to the beast who inspired the will to flee to begin with.

“She’s so beautiful,” Rufio spoke with glazed eyes, licking blood from his lips. Sabre wasn’t sure who it belonged to. Nor was she sure of what to make of his words.

Pan glanced between his first favourite and his youngest, reaffirming the grip under her knee and smirking at how the ruby-streaked boy kept allowing his eyes to slip down and down…right to where his cock was slowly gliding in and out of Sabre’s quim. The woodland king bowed so that he could brush his lips over her temple. “Then why don’t you show that to her?”

Rufio loosened himself from Felix’s long, slender arms while Pan sheathed himself deep within her but, amidst it all, Sabre couldn’t push away the nick of hurt that Pan hadn’t agreed. She didn’t mind so much what Rufio thought of her so long as he did not mean her harm.

Then Felix spoke; “I think you’ve upset her.” And it was only then that Sabre properly acknowledged the fresh welling of tears. There was something amidst his tone; not mirth, not quite, but it kept any pretence of true concern at bay. Her head hung a little lower, lips pressed together to remain silent.

She flinched when Pan was swift to nuzzle her hair and take hold of her jaw so that she had no choice other than to look at him. “Oh, little one. I know I am cruel to you, I know I am rough and callous and that I will not change, but believe me when I tell you that you are the last sacred thing on Neverland. And the purest creature I have ever claimed.”

Unable to help herself from closing her eyes at his words, Sabre pushed back as strongly as she could against him, afraid and desperate for him to be close. Beneath the caging of her ribs, a little more of the slumber had burned away though proper movement was still out of her grasp. A kiss to her forehead pulled away a sigh. Sabre knew she would look back and detest herself for it. What _should_ and what _was_ were, however, on opposite ends of the horizon.

Rufio was crawling closer now, untangled from Felix’s embrace. His eyes, darker than her own, blazed with desire and adoration, both depraved, but honest at least. Pan rolled his hips as the smaller boy crawled over her, leaving room for Felix to shuffle in close and pausing only to watch Sabre’s eyes flutter shut and mouth round delicately in her moan.

The presence of new mouths and hands on her skin took a blind-sighted moment to comprehend – a hand between her legs, another at her breast; a mouth on her nipple, another at her throat. She couldn’t ever hope to hold out against the three of them, and that was what made it perfect.

Carnal pleasure eroded all that needed banishing. She could believe whatever they needed her to believe; that they would seal the cracks and keep her from coming apart irreparably.

The rolls and flexes of Pan’s pelvis steadily turned the key that locked away all but her base desires, and with a raw, broken cry, head tipping back, the lock clicked its last, and he knew he was victorious. Shudders wracked Sabre’s frame and she clung to whatever was there. She was sure Rufio whispered something as she sang out, quim flowing and clenching, but never found out what.

Pan gripped her tight, still pushing in and out of the spent body. “Good girl. That’s it. All mine, aren’t you? My beautiful, little girl,” he purred seconds before they ascended, higher than ever, into an ecstasy entwined, hearts of stone and glass pounding as one.

* * *

The captain was ashen on his next voyage to the Neverland.

Drunk to a stupor most nights, paying the price come day. None challenged him, but their silent pity was worse. Pity for the once dashing, devilish pirate who carried the deaths of two women in his tiring heart. 

No more than a few short months could have passed the dark island by when the portal heralded their arrival.

Dusk had fallen. His voice was hoarse when he ordered the torches to be lit. At that point, any mishap would likely be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Do the exchange, get out as soon as _fucking_ possible, then find a port-town tavern to pass out in.

With Starkey at the helm, Killian stood vigil at the forecastle deck. All his crew kept away, even Smee, which was exactly what he wanted. His vessel sailed true, ever faithful. Heavy, glazed eyes scoured the outlines of the wretched land, searching for something, and nothing.

And then he saw it, bright as the North Star.

On the cliffs of Minaty Bay, a lone figure brandished a lantern, moving it slowly through the darkening sheen of night. A weight slipped from his shoulders, as if too tired to carry on. He’d never seen the face of the wielder who guided their way safely into the bay; even if the way was clear – for the past four or five Neverland years – they would be there.

A pirate knew to trust their gut.

* * *

It would forever remain the lonely day when she became the angel who couldn’t fly, and, at the demon king’s hands, when she also became queen for a lonely, lost day.


End file.
